Page 57 of Minding the Minotaur
I glance at her to see her chewing on her lip. It’s agony waiting. Finally, she says quietly, “Yes, I would, Arlo.”
I can feel my face breaking into a shit-eating grin. “Babe, you’ve just made me the happiest guy.”
I turn and kiss her, and we cling to each other. Already I’m doing equations in my head. I’ve got some savings, and once the next lot of school fees are paid for, I’ll still have enough to live on for a while. I could maybe slow down my clinic visits, only shoot my load once a fortnight, to beginwith. That would leave us a whole week to make love unfettered by the gods damn need to hold in my seed.
I’ll tell Clarisse she’ll need to pull her belt in from now on.
Maybe get a job even.
I’m still riding the wave of happiness, holding Sammy’s hand as we arrive home twenty minutes later. Tippy pulls back the glass partition and calls over her shoulder, “Okay guys. Out. I’ll go park the jeep in the garage.”
We break our handhold as we get out. We still make a small pretense of Sammy being in charge, but with all the noise we make and then Tippy catching us in the bathroom the other day, there’s no doubt in my mind that she knows.
Since then, she’s left bottles of massage oil around, in the bedroom and the bathroom, and keeps mentioning the aphrodisiac quality of certain foods with a twinkle in her eyes.
As for Otis, I’m still not sure whether he’s guessed. He visits every few days, but he always seems preoccupied. He’s got the same look he had when he was studying science at university, his red eyes focused on some distant point, brows drawn down as if he’s working out a complex equation.
He did say the other day he was pleased at how docile I seem right now. Docile. Yeah, I guess I’m happy. Content to just be with my human. I’m going to have to tell him the truth soon: that I no longer have any desire to go up to Sparkle. That what I want—whoI want, is right here with me.
As we reach the front door, I see a figure moving toward us from the garden. The next second she’s bowled into me, one of her horns scratching my cheek.
“Hey gorgeous.” She hugs me in a vice-like grip, her long shaggy blonde hair flying into my mouth, the smell of cheap perfume overwhelming my nostrils.
It’s my sister, Clarisse.
“What are you doing here?” I say when I’ve finally extricated myself from all that hair.
Clarisse pouts. “I couldn’t get hold of you any other way. No-one’s seen you around, and you don’t answer your phone.”
I don’t tell her that’s because Otis has redirected it to the sheriff’s office, and if he saw her number flash up on the screen, he wouldn’t pick up in a fit.
Otis doesn’t like Clarisse. I guess I don’t blame him, sheisa user.
I brace myself for the conversation I was planning to have with her. There’s no time like the present, I guess.
And then, in typical Clarisse style, she drops the bombshell. “Guess what? I’m pregnant again.”
I stare at her, my brain flicking the number from eight to nine younglings behind my eyeballs.
“What the fuck?” is all that comes out of my mouth.
“Oh, that’s nice, what about congratulations?”
“I’ll, um… maybe leave you two to chat,” I hear Sammy say, and I turn to see her giving me a WTF look.
Clarisse stares at Sammy out of curious eyes. “Heck, a paper skin. What’s she doing here?” She lets out a low whistle between her teeth. “She smells like she’s pretty close to heat, too.”
Before things can get any worse, I growl out, “This is Samantha Buggins. Sammy, this is my sister, Clarisse.”
I literally see Sammy’s shoulders drop with relief.
“So what are you up to with my bro?” Clarisse’s tone is almost accusing.
I really don’t want Clarisse to know I’m on house arrest, but luckily Sammy thinks fast.
“I’m Arlo’s—personal trainer.”
“Bad uniform.” Clarisse sniffs.
